


Breakable

by BonesAndScales



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Come Swallowing, Fluff, Lingerie, M/M, Smitten Will Graham, Stockings, Tenderness, Top Will, a hint of sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16699261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Will's fingertips trace the red—garnet red, store lady insisted, garnet red—fine patterns woven into the material, so thin it barely conceals anything; the little patterns might as well have been painted, sewn, on his skin. It does not leave much to the imagination really. Which is the exact purpose of these garments.Why did he buy this again?Kinktober Day 30: Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose | Swallowing





	Breakable

**Author's Note:**

> Smitten Will, for once.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

All right. He can do this.

Will comes to stand in front of the of full length mirror of their en suite bathroom.

He runs his hands over the corset hugging his waist. His fingertips trace the red—garnet red, store lady insisted, _garnet red_ —fine patterns woven into the material, so thin it barely conceals anything; the little patterns might as well have been painted, _sewn_ , on his skin. It does not leave much to the imagination really. Which is the exact purpose of these garments.

Why did he buy this again?

Will presses his lips together, forcing the nervousness to the back of his mind. His hands follow the suspenders diving inside the panties—a thicker, less revealing but somewhat still incredibly obscene scrap of red lace—and run over it from hip to hip. The lace feels nice against his skin. Fresh and smooth. He hooks his thumb into the edge and pulls on it a little, testing the elasticity. Those fancy little things are actually quite sturdy, so he learned. Probably will not be ripped to shreds amidst the throes of passion. Probably.

Going lower, he presses his fingers to the top of his stockings, also adorned with arabesques and intricate patterns. Will tilts his head, considering the nylon hugging his thighs. Maybe he should have gone for a silicone band instead of suspenders, all things considered. He quite liked the ones store lady suggested him. The silicone offered a sturdier base to the pretty embroidery. He pulls on the top of one stocking a little, before letting it snap back on his skin. Yep. These, he has no hope for their survival past tonight.

Will closes his eyes. He does not dare turn around to look at his back, at the long line of his spine framed by the silk lacing closing the corset. Elegant and just the right side of scandalous.

Fragile. Breakable.

The sickening sound of his spine snapping in two rings in his mind. Sharp, loud, clear.

Will tears his gaze from the mirror, rubs his hands over his face. His fingers twitch, not quite trembling. A knot twists his stomach and a wave of nausea grips his heart.

Why the fuck did he buy this?

He forces himself to take deep breaths, and wills his heart to please stop trying to knock itself out against his sternum.

He can do this.

He already came all the way here, might as well see to it through the end. It is no big deal. Just spicing things up a little for the night. People do that all the time. No reason to overreact. What could possibly go wrong anyway?

_Everything_ , his mind whispers to him.

Will viciously stomps on the insidious little bastard, beats it into submission, effectively silencing it. For now.

He sighs, shakes his head. Can’t chicken out now.

After a few more breaths, the vice around his stomach eases off, nausea kept at bay.

He can do this.

He opens his eyes to look at his reflection again. The image has not changed. Red— _garnet red_ —lace over pale skin. Somehow seeing said skin concealed under the delicate material makes him feel more exposed than actually being naked. He sends a glance at the clock on the wall, near the door. It is not too late to backtrack. Maybe he could… maybe he could just stash everything under the sink. He could stick a rose in his mouth, fling himself butt naked into Hannibal's waiting arms, and call it a night. Simple and to the point.

Nervousness is making him reckless.

He inhales deeply, braces himself, and turns on his heels— _he can do this_ —and looks at the reflection of his back. Nothing cataclysmic happens. He exhales in relief. What did he expect anyway? He is being an idiot. Get a grip, Graham.

He straightens his posture, angles his shoulders to get a better look. It does not look half bad, all things considered. The delicate patterns make a pleasant contrast against the hard planes of his back. He slides his hand down the small of his back, and over the swell of his ass. Never before did he find his own ass attractive. The wonders a little lace can do.

He runs a finger over the red silk of the lacing. Just as the tension leaves his shoulders, his mind—

_—lying broken at his feet, body limp and defenseless—_

—decides to be an asshole. A shudder runs up his spine. He shakes his head to chase the unwanted thought out. It only becomes clearer.

_—bruises, cuts, chunks of skin clawed off. His skin cracked open, peeled back, the flesh ripped off his bones, charred black, fueling the pool of blood under his—_

Will turns his head away from the mirror, face buried in his hands. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it in for a few seconds, before letting it out through his mouth. He repeats the exercise two, three, eight times, until the knot in his stomach eases off.

That was… worse than he was prepared for.

He cards his fingers through his hair, pushing them back and out of his eyes. Shit, he is trembling. He can't go back like this. This is going to end in a panic attack and Hannibal will have to spend the rest of the night begging him to please unlock the door of the pantry and for the love of everything that is holy, to stop depleting their whiskey supplies.

Will feels a smile tug at his lips. Strange how the thought of Hannibal can both provoke terrifying thoughts and bring him comfort at the same time. So much has changed since the fall. Before that fateful night, neither of them would have dared to hope for more than the faintest caress, heavy with longing and violent yearnings as it may be. And yet here they are now. Licking each other's scars and cherishing the scent of their embrace, lingering in the cold morning air. All their bloody, dramatic history merging with the little things of daily routine; the two of them nestled in this new life they carved for themselves in a world they do not need.

The nervousness recedes, and the desire builds back up, warm and simmering in his belly. Will thinks of Hannibal. He thinks of his hands, warm, large, calloused, sliding over him, finger tips tracing each curve and scar and etching them into his memory. He thinks of his mouth, of his lips rubbing against his shoulders, the length of his arms and of his thighs, reverently pressing kisses onto the offered skin.

Will opens his eyes, gathers all his bravado to turn and look at the mirror again. His gaze roams over his reflection once more. The lingerie does not make him look fragile or breakable. A fluttering image of Hannibal kissing his way down his spine, slipping the  lacing off each buttonhole with utmost care passes behind his eyelids. He thinks of Hannibal leaning close, his warmth radiating towards Will's back. He thinks of hot puffs of breath against his hair, whispering onto his skin, a litany of _beautiful_ and _Will_ and _beloved._

This time it is desire that lumps in his throat.

Will brings his hands to his body again, much gentler, much more considerate, no longer wary of the image reflected back at him, and finally able to see the beauty. It does look pretty on him.

_Weak_ , his treacherous mind whispers to him.

Will’s takes his hands off the clothes, as though burned, and rakes them through his hair instead. Damn, just when he was starting to get in the mood. He wishes he could yank the unwanted thoughts out of his head with his bare hands, tear the leeches off his mind. Hannibal has not laid eyes on him yet and already he feels so vulnerable. So breakable. What a fucking idiot. He reaches behind himself for the knot of the lacing, pulls on the ends to unfasten it.

Three raps on the door almost make him rips the lacing off of the grommets.

He turns wide eyes to the closed door, surprise puncturing his guts.

“Will? Is everything all right?”

Just fucking had a heart attack but, “Yes! Fine! Everything’s fine,” he replies, loud enough to be heard through the door. He paws at the opening of the corset carefully. Still in one piece. He sighs in relief. Good thing he bought this expensive stuff instead of going for a cheaper brand.  

“You’ve been in here for quite some time now.”

“Ah, sorry—I just—I’ll be out in a minute, promise.”

Will holds his breath, and waits. No answer. Hopefully, Hannibal is not listening at the door. There is not much to listen to anyway.

Will carefully refastens the lacing, ties it a little looser than earlier, feels a little less trapped, a little more comfortable. He turns to face the mirror again, smoothes his hands over his belly one last time. He can do this. He swivels around and marches to the bathroom door. The lock clicks open and he pulls on the handle. The harsh light of the bathroom floods into the bedroom.

The lights are off. The room is only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open window and the soft glow coming from the fireplace.

Eyebrows pinched with uncertainty Will steps forwards, looking around into the bedroom, much warmer than the bathroom.

“Hello?”

“Will.”

His eyes dart to the armchair by the window, where Hannibal is reclining. Will can barely make out his silhouette, shrouded in darkness, just shy of the firelight.

“You look lovely, my darling.”

Will feels the blood burning under the skin of cheeks as he is reminded of exactly what he is wearing, and takes a step back and— _ow fuck_ —bumps into the door jamb, hitting his head against the frame. He hisses, hands shooting up to rubs the back of his head gently. Real smooth, Graham.

Hannibal’s light chuckle reaches his ears, however quiet it is.

Okay. Okay. Now is not the time to waver. He lets his hands fall back to his side, ignoring the light throbbing on his skull. He straightens his posture, pulls back his shoulders. He lifts his chin, cants his hip to the side, one hand resting on his jutting hip bone. Go big or go home.

“Surprise?” he says, tilting his head, batting his lashes.

“Indeed.” Hannibal sounds amused.

That is… not the reaction he was hoping for.

Will bites the inside of his cheek, feeling them darken under another rush of blood. He racks his brain for something to say. The burst of confidence trickles out of him as the seconds tick by.

Hannibal pushes himself up from his chair, going to the bed instead and standing near his nightstand. Will can make out the contour of a robe around his broad frame. His eyes find a sudden interest in the rug, all the bravado gone from him.

He can’t find anything witty to say, so he settles for a quiet, “Maybe red was overkill,” dipping his chin and fiddling with the edge of the corset, the attitude drowning under a fresh wave of nervousness.

“Should have gone for white? Demure and ingenuous.”

Will shrugs. “Or you know, just black. Classic. Elegant.”

Hannibal flicks on the lamp on his nightstand.

Will’s jaw makes a muffled thud as it crashes on the floor.

Hannibal tilts his head to the side, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Like this?”

The robe draped over his form is black satin, ending just beneath his knees. The material makes him look slimmer, more delicate. He has left it open, hanging loosely on his shoulders, and giving Will a perfect view of what he is wearing underneath.

Will’s eyes travel down the greying hair of his chest, settle on the fine lace of the black garter belt circling his waist. The material just as thin and revealing as his own corset, thin enough for Will to discern his belly button underneath. The lines of the belt makes a lovely contrast against the hard planes of his stomach and the soft curve below his navel, the hint of a life well lived. Somehow the strip of lace softens his appearance, giving it a more refined air— _fragile, breakable_.

Will swallows hard, his throat clicks audibly, a crack of thunder in the silence of the room. His eyes follow the faint—trimmed—trail of hair disappearing inside the black panties. The line of his cock is barely visible, a hard shadow on his—oh shit no no no, his own cock twitches in his own panties, he can’t come in them, he would never hear the end of it. Moving on, moving on.

The suspenders slide over his legs to the top of the stockings, also adorned with intricate patterns—flowers? looks like flowers from there—and hugs Hannibal’s powerful thighs oh so enticingly. Will is so going to rip those stockings off with his teeth.

… But knowing Hannibal they are probably an extra expensive brand and material that could survive the apocalypse.

Will opens his mouth, manages an intelligent, “Wh—You—The fuck?”

He bites his lip, forces his brain to start working again. Hannibal tilts his head and sends him an inquisitive look, not bothering to hide an amused smile.

Will takes a deep, steadying breath. “Hannibal. Why are you,” he gestures helplessly at his attire, “like this?”

“For the same reason as you,” Hannibal mirrors Will's movement again, maybe less frantically, “To please my beloved.”

Now that is cheating. Will is hella weak to this endearment. His brain immediately sends him unwanted images of stags and ropes and hardcore bondage—which they absolutely need to do again at some point, Will’s lifetime of sailing and tying knots is not going to waste—and this in turn has the instant effect of sending all the blood to his groin. Crossed wires.

“I know I was the one who said we were conjoined and all but this is way too specific and well-timed to be a coincidence.”

“A memory palace is a world of utmost intimacy. A sacred place accessible to no one but its creator. Somehow we stroll in and out of each other’s effortlessly.” Hannibal shrugs, the movement making the robe lifts up and caress his chest. Will swallows. “Being able to tell each other’s thoughts might not be that far fetched.”

Bullshit. “Hannibal. How did you find out.”

“You left the receipt in your trouser pocket.”

_Fuck_.

Hannibal tilts his chin towards Will’s outfit. “I subsequently found this lovely ensemble hidden amongst your clothes—poorly, may I add—and it was obviously too small for me.” Will snarls at that. He is not small, dammit. Hannibal continues, unperturbed, “So I thought I might acquire one for myself as well.” Hannibal smiles, a secretive little thing, something just for the two of them, and cants his hips, props his hand on his hip bone the same way Will did. “Surprise.”

Will feels his eyes prickle at the words and he bites his lower lip.

Hannibal circles bed to join him, his gait light and feline, hips swaying, unashamed and unapologetic. The smug smile on his face does it for Will.

“You son of a bitch,” he hisses between clenched teeth, an uncontrollable grin stretching his lips, and surges forward, crushing his mouth against Hannibal’s, teeth clacking with the force, and noses bumping awkwardly. Will pushes him back, forceful and relentless—heart bursting with joy, and _so in love with this motherfucker_ —until the back of Hannibal’s knees knock against the bedframe and they fall on the bed in a pile of limbs and lace.

With a little rolling around in the sheets and climbing on each other and almost falling off the mattress altogether at least three times, they somewhat make it to the middle of the bed. Upside down. Oh well.

Will huffs as Hannibal settles over him, and parts his legs to make room for his larger frame. Hannibal slots perfectly into the cradle of his hip bone and they both sigh in content as their erections rub together through the thin panties. Will leans up to catch his mouth again, pinned under his weight. He slips his hands down Hannibal’s back, lingering on the garter belt a moment, tracing the embroidered patterns, before continuing down towards his panties. His fingers slide over a little bow of cold silk and then naked skin. Holy shit, a window.

Will’s hand slips eagerly into the opening in the back of the panties. He grabs a handful of Hannibal’s ass, squeezing it briefly before his fingers slip between his cheeks, lower and lower, until he grazes his entrance, warm and slick. Lubed up. Oh the shrewd, thirsty little—

Will’s hand slips out of Hannibal’s ass when he moves away, kissing and nipping his way down Will’s chest.

“You planned everything, didn’t you?”

“I could only hope.” Will arches a sceptical and very unimpressed eyebrow. Hannibal concedes, “And maybe tinkered with a few things to adjust the timing.”

“ _Cunning boy_ ,” Will throws Hannibal’s words right back at him, mischievous glee thick in his voice.

Hannibal shoots him an deadpan look—which might as well be a scandalised gasp, coming from him—and flicks his forehead, before he resumes his descent down Will’s body. Will’s back arches under his ministrations, a huff of laughter dying in a content sigh, head thrown back and eyes fluttering close. He sighs as Hannibal’s warm hands run down his front, caressing the lace.

Hannibal leaves a kiss on the little sliver of skin between the end of the corset and the top of the panties, before he licks a long stripe over the line of his cock through the underwear and Will’s hips buck up as it hardens into the little scrap of lace, the head peeking out from underneath. Hannibal takes it into his mouth, suckling on the tip, tongue sliding around the head and playing with the slit. Will hums appreciatively and his fingers find their way into his hair, petting him a moment before they move down to caress his shoulders and the top of his back, nails barely grazing the skin.

He moans in protest when Hannibal lets go, and tries in vain to push him down again. Hannibal hooks his fingers in the panties and Will lifts his hips off the mattress to let him pull the garment down his thighs, releasing Will’s cock from the flimsy confines. Hannibal leans down to wrap his lips around Will’s cock again. He slowly takes more of him into his mouth, cheeks hollowed out, tongue following the vein on the underside, until Will feels his cock touch the back of his throat.

“Oh fuck, _yes_.”

Will’s hands tangle in Hannibal’s hair, pushing his head down. His hips lift up ever so slightly, his cock sliding deeper still. Hannibal groans, plants his own hands on Will’s abdomen to hold him down, while he keeps swallowing around Will’s cock, drawing more sighs from him.

All too soon Hannibal stops. Will's cock slips out of his mouth with a wet _pop_ and Will whines in protest, making Hannibal chuckle.

“Patience, my love,” he says, leaving a kiss on Will’s belly, just under the line of the corset.

He pulls Will’s panties the rest of the way down and throws the garment over his shoulder, discarding the scrap of lace somewhere at the head of the bed, left to sink in the sea of pillows. He raises Will’s right leg, brings his ankle to his mouth and starts peppering kisses on the fine bones, over the nylon of the stocking.

“Is it just the stockings or do you have something for my feet?” Will asks, wiggling his toes.

“Your ankles are so delicate, they could have been carved out of ice,” Hannibal whispers right against said ankle, absentmindedly running a fingertip up the black line at the back of his thigh.

“Delicate? These ankles have seen some shit when I was a beat cop. They’re anything but delicate.”

“A rose blooming on the battlefield doesn’t lose her beauty.”

“But she sure grows a fuckton of thorns.”

With one last parting caress to his thigh, Hannibal lowers his leg on the bed again. “And do those thorns make her any less beautiful?”

Will huffs out a laugh, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “All right Don Juan, that’s enough metaphors for the night. I don’t want to hear anything about flowers growing from cadavers.”

Hannibal flashes him a small smile. He twists around, leaning over the side to reach for the drawer of the nightstand and rattle inside. He pulls the lubricant and condoms out. The bottle is thrown carelessly on Will’s chest— _oof_.

“ _Rude_.”

“What’s to be done about that?”

Will pushes himself up on his elbows as Hannibal crawls back towards him. “You tell me.”

Once seated between Will’s legs, Hannibal tears the condom out of its packet and rolls it on Will’s cock, abandoning the torn packet somewhere on the sheets. His eyes glint with boyish mischief when they meet Will's again. “Are you going to eat me?”

“Out? If you behave, maybe.”

“Don’t be crass, now.”

“Is that a no?”

Hannibal retrieves the bottle of lube from Will’s hand and pours a generous amount on his palm to spread it over Will’s cock. “No.” The bottle is thrown over his shoulder somewhere on the pillows, and Hannibal hooks his thumb in his panties.

“Wow there.” Will shoots up, wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist and arms to stop his movement. He pecks Hannibal’s mouth before he has time to protest. “You got to take mine off, I get to take yours off.”

Hannibal does not roll his eyes—because Hannibal Lecter does not roll his eyes—but the intent is very present, and very obvious. Will snorts, and catches his mouth in a kiss, hands sliding over his back. Hannibal goes pliantly when Will rolls them over. They part with one last peck and Will straightens up, pushing Hannibal’s legs apart to settle between them. He places his hands under his calves to lifts them up, and pulls down the panties. The garment joins Will’s underwear at the head of the bed, and Will brings his ankles together to places both his legs on his right shoulder. He wraps his arms around Hannibal’s thighs, pulling them flush against his chest, and pushes his hips against Hannibal’s exposed ass, rubs the line of his cock between his cheeks, right over his slick, fluttering hole.

Will’s lips latch onto the smooth nylon hugging his calves, all the warning he gives before he sinks his teeth into the hard muscles, and pulls back, the delicate material caught between his incisives, stretched thin. Hannibal slaps Will’s leg, and Will swats his thigh in retaliation.

“Will, these are Carine Gilson.”

Will’s teeth releases the strip of nylon, and he laves his tongue over it instead. “Who’s that? Never heard of her.”

Hannibal pulls himself up on his elbows, sliding off Will’s thighs. “It’s a brand I’m very fond of. And I’d rather you treat their garments with care.”

“Okay, okay,” Will relents, patting the spot he bit. “No tearing the Carine Gilson undies. Got it.”

He snickers when Hannibal huffs and sends him an offended look. He slips his hand back under Hannibal’s knee to push his leg up and over his head, settling it on his other shoulder. Hannibal groans at the strain put on his back when Will leans forward to kiss his chest, and his legs slip off his shoulders.

“Whoop. You stay up here, babe.” Will hooks his arms under his knees to keep them up, though further apart to alleviate the pressure.

“I’m afraid I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

“You’ve been exercising a lot though.”

Hannibal’s hands pet Will’s hair as he nuzzles his chest, tongue darting out to latch on a nipple, lapping at the nub until it hardens. “Mostly building up the strength I lost during those three years in a cage.”

“A very comfortable cage.” He leaves a trail of kisses across his chest to lavish the same attention on his other nipple.

“But a cage nonetheless.”

Will hums as Hannibal’s hands tighten their grip in his hair. He bites down on the nipple and a soft gasp pushes past Hannibal’s lips, music to his ears. He licks the spot he bit, hoping it will be enough for the pain to subside—actually, that’s a lie, he hopes the pain _does not_ subside—and this time Hannibal moans, shaky and quiet. Will rewards him by rolling his hips against his, rubbing their cocks together, tearing another moan from him.

Will’s hands run down his sides, framing his waist, and back over the stockings. His mouth slowly makes its way up Hannibal’s torso, peppering kisses on his chest and neck, nipping on his collar bones and on his pulsing carotide.

With one last nip to Hannibal’s chin, he straightens up. His gaze slides down Hannibal’s body, takes in his dishevelled state; his cheeks dusted pink and lips kiss swollen and glistening, his chest heaving with each intake of breath, the garter belt extending on his waist with each trembling exhale. Will feels his throat constrict with a wave of lust—his? Hannibal’s? probably both—and swallows down the lump. Hannibal’s eyes dart to his Adam's apple, pupils blown, eating up the sienna of his irises.

Will could take him like this. He could.

Will lowers his legs. “Turn around,” he says instead, breathless and hopeful. Foolish.

Without a second of hesitation, Hannibal turns on his front, with little help from Will needed. He sinks comfortably on the mattress with a quiet sigh, arms close to his chest and head nuzzling the soft comforter. Offering his spine— _fragile, breakable_ —to Will without a hint of distrust or discomfort.

Will swallows. And stares, and stares, and stares, eyes wide, lips parted. His gaze slides down the long column of Hannibal’s spine. He etches it all in his memory; the sharp ridges of vertebrae breaking the smooth planes below his neck, the pale, raised scar where iron burned through the skin, the strip of black lace splitting his back in two halves. Slowly, carefully, Will rest a hand on the middle of his back, right over the garter belt. How long would it take him to snap it? Seconds. An instant. The blink of an eye.

Will presses down.

Hannibal does not react, eyes still closed, breaths still steady.

Will bites into the tender flesh of his lip, deafened by the blood roaring in his ear, heart thumping painfully in his chest. Smears of blood cling to the back of his eyelids, he blinks and blinks and they only spread further in his vision, thick and heavy, their coppery smell invading his nostrils. He forces himself back into the present, focuses on Hannibal, laid out before him, the willing sacrifice to an unforgiving god. Will leans forward, presses harder.

Hannibal only rolls his shoulders, readjusts his hips on the mattress, accommodating the added weight.

Will swallows, places his other hand on his spine, higher up, right over the brand. The burning iron flashes before his eyes, its sickening sizzling echoes loud and sharp over the sound of his own heart. He pushes himself up on his knees—

“Will.”

Will’s his eyes snap to Hannibal’s.

Hannibal looks unperturbed, still at ease on the soft comforter, curious eyes peering at Will over his shoulder. The blood vanishes, the iron vanishes.

“Stay with me, my love.”

Will only now realises the burning in his lungs, deprived too long of much needed air. He swallows the lump in his throat, allows it to open again, lets himself inhale deeply. He sits back on his haunches, hands settling on the smooth nylon covering Hannibal’s thighs, eyes cast down, dazed.

Hannibal props himself up on his elbows, cheek resting in his palm as he studies Will’s face.

In a poor attempt at evading his piercing eyes, Will leans down to press his forehead between Hannibal’s shoulder blades. Thankfully, Hannibal does not ask him anything, only waits patiently as he takes deep breaths, fills his lungs with the scent of him, the scent of them, imprinted in the room, in the sheets, in this life. He is grateful when Hannibal lets him in, the gates of their bridge open wide and inviting.

Will lets himself sink deeper into him, he lets the images of blood and bruises and spines snapping like twigs drown into the flashes of affection and tenderness, and warm nights and slow mornings that flood his mind.

“I'm here.” Hannibal’s voice is warm, brimming with everything left unsaid, everything that does not need words.

It is all the reassurance Will needs. “Sorry.”

Once again he rests his hands flat on Hannibal’s back, on either side of his spine this time, his touch much softer. He runs them up and down the hard planes, from the mounds of his ass to the broad expanse of his shoulders. No unwanted thoughts. Just Hannibal, pleased and pliant and beautiful. Hannibal, who sighs under him, and lowers himself back on the mattress, lashes fluttering close under Will’s caresses.

Will holds the narrowest part of his waist, just over the line of the garter belt. He leans forward, presses his lips to a shoulder blade, leaves a trail of sweet, lingering kisses on the warm skin. Hannibal makes a low rumbling sounds, from deep within his belly, something like a purr and arches his back, rolling his hips into the mattress.

“You’re like a big cat,” Will whispers against his skin. “A big, murderous cat.”

“How did I find myself with a dog person, I wonder.”

“I like cats too.” Will slowly makes his way down his spine, nipping on the knobs. “We should get you one.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“A fluffy, grumpy cat. Who will shed on your suits.”

“The dogs are already fulfilling this job.”

Will laves his tongue over the scar, over the design he carved into the skin, right over the disgrace of the Verger brand. In the darkest part of his mind, he thinks of tearing the skin right off of Hannibal's flesh, and laying his own brand on the wound. Sometimes he dreams of it, of ripping the offending mark with his teeth, of letting it scar into his own mark, a permanent reminder of who exactly he belongs to. Just like Hannibal left his own marks on the canvas of his body.

Will’s hand drifts down to his own belly, and, with utmost tenderness, caresses through the lace the smile etched onto his skin.

Perhaps sensing his distraction, Hannibal pushes himself up on his forearms, looking at him over his shoulder again. Will’s hand moves to the dark lace of the belt. Something must pass over his eyes, not quick enough to go unnoticed, Will is sure—there is not much that can escape Hannibal's scrutiny—and he leans down to close his jaws around the strip of lace, pulling on it.

Hannibal clicks his tongue. “Will, I said these—”

“Carine Gilson, yes,” he mumbles around the belt, before releasing it, letting it snap back onto Hannibal’s skin. He slips his hand under the belt to rub at the skin. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

“In fact I do, but thank you for reminding me.”

Will chuckles, slides his hands over his ass, and gives his right cheek a playful swat. Hannibal’s shoulders tense up briefly. His skin turns a lovely pink right where he hit him.

“Anytime, big boy.” Will leans in to kiss the spot he just slapped.

“I believe I’m way past the stage where I can still be considered a ‘boy’, Will. If anything you are closer to being a boy than I am.”

“Funny how you had no problem being called a good boy.”

Hannibal tsks. “You should work on that awful timing of yours, Will,” he says, shaking his head in dismay. “Dreadful. Terrible. Appalling.”

Will is briefly tempted to fish the collar out of the nightstand, just to spite him, but decides he has tormented Hannibal enough for the night. He leans down to nuzzle his back, pressing his lips to the space between his shoulder blades. He places his hands on Hannibal's ass cheeks, thumbs sliding in the cleft to stroke over his warm entrance. “Ready?”

“I think you've kept me waiting long enough, _boy_.”

Will chuckles at the offended tone. He places one last kiss on Hannibal’s ass and straightens up, sliding in closer and nudging his thighs further apart. Hannibal slides a leg against the mattress and arches his back deeper, hips canting higher, exposing his slick hole. Will takes his cock in hand and leans in slowly, pushing the head against his tight hole. Hannibal pushes back against him, and the tip pops in easily. Will bites his lower lip as the rim stretches around the head, clamping on it, before closing tight on the shaft.  

Hannibal muffles a moan in the comforter when Will’s hips touch his ass, cock fully sheathed, and Will still over him, lets him adjust to the stretch. He lowers himself slowly, arms on either of Hannibal, while Hannibal rolls his hips back against the steady pressure on his prostate.

“Oh yes, baby,” he whispers, breathless, against his nape, teeth grazing the delicate skin. “You’re gorgeous, you’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Once—once again, yes, I do—”

Hannibal bites down on the last word as Will draws back, until only the head remains before sliding back in, setting an excruciatingly slow pace.

“You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re—” Will whispers, again and again and again, because he needs Hannibal to know, he needs him to _understands_ , he needs him to—“you’re beautiful, you’re so fucking beautiful, Jesus, Hannibal, how can you be so goddamn—”

Hannibal shifts onto elbows, pushing Will slightly off balance, his arms sliding against the sheets. He turns his head, catches Will’s chin with his fingertips to guide his mouth in a hungry kiss, more a clumsy mashing of lips and tongues than anything. Will braces his arms on either side of Hannibal’s chest again, regaining his balance before he picks up the pace. His movements turn shallow, frantic, unwilling to sacrifice more than an each inside Hannibal’s velvety heat before he pushes back in. Each time their skin slaps together, he greedily swallows Hannibal’s moans, lets them fuel the pool of fire growing low in his belly.

They part with a wet _smack_ , their faces still close enough for the tip of their noses to rub together whenever Will sheathes himself back in. He grins when he notices the deep pink colour dusting Hannibal cheeks, ears, the bridge of his nose. “You’re blushing, you goddamn gorgeous—”

“So are you, my darling,” Hannibal breathes out between gasps, faint and ragged, “So are you, my beautiful, magnificent, lov—”

Will bears down on him and Hannibal’s arms give out. He falls back on the bed with a muffled _oof_ and Will covers his body with his own, skin to skin, heart to heart. Will imagines the skin of Hannibal’s back turning pink and red with the friction of his corset. He imagines the taste of the scratches on his tongue, mingled with their sweat and the taste of him.

He slips his arms between Hannibal’s chest and the mattress, and holds him close, close enough to feel their hearts beating in unison through their prison of bones, feel his ribcage struggling to suck in most precious gulps of air. Will tightens his grip, hoping—hoping so hard, in the deepest, darkest part of him—that he will rob him of his breath. He feels his own heart thumping wildly in his chest as Hannibal struggles under him, diaphragm barely able to expand, lungs burning to be filled. He feels Hannibal’s hole clamp down on him as his body fights the pressure of his embrace.

Will does not relent, drives his hips forward harder, faster, the vice of his arms unyielding, unforgiving. Hannibal’s body starts trembling under him as he rocks against the mattress. He tries to push himself up again under Will’s weight, the sharp points of his shoulder blades almost piercing the skin of his back, his head hanging low between his arms, neck offered in exchange for mercy. Will sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of his nape, drawing a startled gasp from him.

Hannibal tries to push himself up again, the muscles of his back bunching up under the effort. Will moans low in his ear when his hole tightens around his cock as well.

“Will,” Hannibal huffs out between ragged breath, “Let me—Let me see you.” When Will does not relent, he forces out a second, “ _Will_ ,” faint and breathless.

Will groans, loathe to leave the velvet heat of Hannibal’s body. He reluctantly unlocks the tight grip of his arms, and Hannibal sucks in a sharp breath as his lungs fill up with the musky smell of sex and the overwhelming scent of them. Will stills over him, supports his own weight on his arms. He presses his forehead against Hannibal’s back, filling his mind with each harsh intake of breath from Hannibal, the erratic beating of his heart, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he can’t help but murmurs against the sweaty skin again.

Hannibal wheezes out a laugh, all his burning lungs can manage. “I—” His voice comes out quiet and raspy. He swallows, takes a couple of shaky breaths. “I know.” The last vowel drowns in a hiss as Will pulls out and sits back on his haunches, helps him on his back

Hannibal plops down on the comforter, chest heaving, eyes still closed. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the damp strands back, catching the beads of sweat forming on his brow. Will reverently runs his hands over his belly, from the dip of his hip bone to the arch of his lowest ribs, drinking in the sight of him. Dishevelled, unguarded, trusting. He looks so goddamn beautiful, Will can’t believe this man is his—his what? His lover? Sounds too weak a word to encompass everything they share.

Hannibal’s fingers grasp the end of his corset, tugging insistently. Will obediently leans down to press his mouth to Hannibal’s in a chaste kiss. Hannibal’s hands slide over his back, catching onto the embroidered patterns, and Will arched his back when they cup his ass. A thumb slips under a suspender and pulls it back before letting it snap back on Will’s cheek.

Will chuckles. “Petty, are we?” he whispers into the kiss, catching Hannibal’s lower lip between his teeth.

“For the sake of equity.”

Will slides his arms under his back to pull him up on his lap, and Hannibal wraps his own around Will’s neck, knees bracketing his hips. He reaches behind himself, taking Will’s cock in hand and guiding the head back against his entrance. When Will looks down, Hannibal grabs his chin, forcing their gazes together. Eyes planted in Will’s, all the barriers down, Hannibal braces an arm on his shoulders and carefully lowers himself.

The head pops in again, and Will’s hands find Hannibal’s hips, caressing his sides, thumbs tracing the lace of the garter belt. He sighs as Hannibal’s velvety heat engulfs his cock again, slick and tight. Hannibal leans forward to curl around Will as and Will’s arms wind around him again, his hands running along his back. He presses his mouth to Hannibal’s shoulder, humming against the skin.

Hannibal starts rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Will holds him tightly, feels his cock trapped between them rubbing against their bellies. He thrusts upwards to meet his hips, seeking to go deeper still. He tries different angles, searching, and grins when Hannibal lets out a high pitched moan, chin snapping up and rim clenching around Will.

Will readjusts his grip on Hannibal’s hips and picks up the pace, delighted each time Hannibal’s breath hitches. Will’s slips a hand between their bodies to wraps it around his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Hannibal arches his back, jaw falling slack around quiet moans. Will nips at his jaw, and Hannibal turns his head to seal their mouths together. Will swallows all the sweet sounds tumbling out of his lips, the vibration travelling down his own throat, sending sparks into the pool of heat in his belly.

Hannibal’s hole clenches around him hard—close, close, _so close_.

Will breaks the kiss. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out. “So tight—so damn tight for me, I can’t believe you’re—I can’t believe—Fuck,” Unable to form a coherent thought, he curses between clenched teeth.

Thankfully Hannibal seems to get the general idea, and smiles at him, eyes bright and moist with pleasure.

“And you’re so—Ah!” Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat after a particularly hard thrust, “—so eloquent, my darling,” he wheezes out, because he is the kind of utter asshole Will had to fall in love with.

Will grins, tangles his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, yanks hard, and licks a hot stripe up his exposed his throat. “You watch that pretty mouth of yours, babe,” Will says right against his skin, “Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to it, yes?”

Hannibal bats off Will’s hand, and buries his own in Will’s hair, pulling his head back to force their eyes together. “I expect you to return the courtesy, _boy_ ,” he snarls, pupils glinting dangerously.

Will can’t help the broken laugh—more a wheeze than anything really—pushing past his lips in between erratic breaths. “For the sake of equity?”

“You know me so well, dea _rest_ ,” his voice pitches up as Will picks up the pace.

Will tightens his grip around Hannibal’s cock—tighter, tighter, _tighter_ , pushing the pressure on the edge pain—strokes him in time with his thrusts, tearing a litany of sweet mewls and _Will_ from Hannibal. Will snarls, presses his closed eyelids to Hannibal’s shoulder as he feels both their pleasure pulsing in waves, crossing the bridge of their minds and merging together, magnified in their union. Hannibal winds his arms around Will’s neck, cradles his head close to him, as his hips grind down hard on Will’s cock.

“Will, I’m—”

“ _Yes_ , come for me, beautiful.”

Will slides his nail over the slit of Hannibal’s cock and feels his hole clench around him painfully as he comes, back arching beautifully, head thrown back and lips parted around a soundless cry. Will fucks him through it, hand still pumping his cock until the last ribbons of come paints their stomachs, the thick white streaks a sharp contrast against the black lace of his garter belt. Will savours the sweet taste of his orgasm, rumbling low through their bridge, licks every last drop of it until it ebbs into a pleasant buzz.

Hannibal’s body slowly relaxes around him as he comes down from the high. His grips relents on Will’s hair, and he pushes away from Will’s shoulders, lets himself fall backwards on the mattress, chest heaving as he sucks in shaky breaths.

Will follows after him, settling his arms on either side of his head. He tilts his chin and laves his tongue over Hannibal’s cheek to lick off the unshed tears clinging to his lashes and get a taste of the delicate blush perched high on his cheekbones.

With one last kiss for each of Hannibal’s closed eyelids, Will straightens up.

He stares, mesmerised by the sight of Hannibal, flushed and out of breath, glowing with satisfaction, drowning in the high of pleasure. Watching tastes of the forbidden, something otherworldly Will never should have been able to witness. This not the first, and it certainly will not be the last, and still, each time feels like the sweetest transgression. Will swallows hard, carves the sight into his palace, in the entire wing dedicated to everything in Hannibal that belongs to him—to him alone.

Hannibal hisses when he pulls out—one more artefact for his palace—his hole fluttering around the emptiness left behind.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he can’t help but whisper again, stroking his thighs soothingly.

He slips the condom off of his cock, tying it off and discarding it somewhere over the end of the bed. He wraps his hand around his cock, eyes still fixed on Hannibal as he slowly refocuses and comes back in the room and back in the moment—back to him—and starts stroking himself.

Hannibal reaches down to grab his wrist, stopping his movements.

“Come up here, love.”

Hungry little—

Will moves to straddle Hannibal’s hips, inches closer until he is sitting over his chest, knees on either side of his head. He leans forwards, braces his hands on the edge of the bed, and Hannibal grabs his hips, keeping him in place. He leans up, sucks the tip of Will’s cock inside his mouth. His tongue laps at the head, diving into the slit to collect the drops of pre-come pearling there. Will hums when his cheeks hollow out as he takes more of him inside his mouth, tongue caresses the underside of his cock.

Shit, he is not going to last.

Hannibal’s hands guide his movements, pulling him forward, and Will allows himself to move, rolling his hips slowly, thrusting into Hannibal’s mouth in a steady rhythm. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, muffling soft moans. He re-adjusts his balance, moving his weight to his left hand, while his right hand slips under Hannibal’s head, guiding his movements.

Will rocks his hips slowly, keeping his eyes on those pretty kiss swollen lips wrapped around his cock. He pushes forward, unrelenting, until he feels Hannibal choke around him, the back of his throat constricting around the head as he reels in his gag reflex. And oh god, it feels heavenly. Will keeps still, savours the pressure, and the way Hannibal’s nails carve little crescents on the skin of his hips and ass.

He counts a few seconds before pulling out slowly. Hannibal’s tongue caresses the underside of his cock on the way out. Will withdraws until only the tip remains, lets Hannibal lavish the head with attention, before he pushes back in, just as slowly. He feels the gag reflex and the constriction again, and this time he does not stop, soldiers on deeper still.

The head touches the back of his throat and Will snarls.

He keeps thrusting, steady, easy slides, deeper and deeper until he can finally feel the tip of Hannibal’s nose graze his stomach. He lets out a long breath, and pushes forward still, until he feels those lips flush against the base of his cock. His knees tremble and he clenches his teeth, head hanging between his shoulders, eyes fixed on those beautiful, glistening lips stretched around him. His grips tightens on the sheets, knuckles turning white under the pressure. He is close, he is close—

“Hann—” The rest of his name gets drowned in a strangled gasp.

A gasp that quickly turns into a drawn out moan as he comes deep into Hannibal’s throat, chin snapping up at the spike of pleasure shooting up his spine. His breath catches in his throat at each spurt torn out of him, disappearing in Hannibal’s throat as he struggles to swallow everything Will has to give, holding his hips tightly.

The last spurt of semen disappears inside Hannibal’s throat and he sucks once more around him, his tongue still stroking the underside of his cock—too much, _too much_. Will winces and lets out a sharp groan and lifts his hips, overstimulation bordering on pain.

“Wait wait wait stop, _stop_ ,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He bats Hannibal’s hands away from his hips, and pulls out, his cock slipping out of his mouth.

He leans forward and to get off of Hannibal and—

Falls off the bed.

“Oh fuc—”

All the air is chased out of his lungs as his back collides with the floor. Will blinks at the ceiling, once, twice, winded by the spike of adrenaline.

Real. Smooth. Graham.

He spares one glance at Hannibal, leaning over the edge of the bed, propped up on his elbows, his chin resting on his palm. His eyes glint with mischief and an infuriating smile hangs on the corner of his lips.

Will glares at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyes spoke enough for you.”

Hannibal’s smile stretches into a grin, but he magnanimously keeps his mouth shut, for once in his damn life. He extends a hand and helps Will back up on the bed, crawls backwards towards the head, Will following him gingerly on his hands and knees. Hannibal lowers himself gracefully on his back amongst the fort of pillows, while Will plops down on his front, face buried in the pillows, inhaling Hannibal’s scent still clinging to them. He turns his head to look at Hannibal.

The bastard looks so goddamn radiant.

He lays still, eyes closed, features soft and relaxed, the shadow of his pale lashes fluttering over his cheekbones. His breaths are easy and even, chest barely rising as he basks in the afterglow, hands resting on his belly just over the garter belt, and fingers playing with the lace, drawing short lines along the length. Will reaches out to place a hand on his chest, just over his sternum, and feels his heart beating underneath, strong and steady.

“Still alive?”

“Quite,” Hannibal replies softly, eyes still closed.

Will pulls himself up on his elbow, rests his chin on his palm while his other hand travels lowers, settling on Hannibal’s hip. He follows the line of the suspenders, caresses his thigh and slips his fingertips under the stocking. Hannibal hums, pushing his leg up into his palm.

Will leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his eye, his lips catching some of the moisture clinging to his lashes. He licks a hot stripe just under his closed eyelid, trying to gather more of those.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers, rubbing his lips against Hannibal’s cheekbones

Hannibal glows under the praise and Will’s ministrations. “Yes, I think we’ve established that a little earlier.”

Will chuckles and leans down to peck his mouth. He pushes himself up further to look over his shoulder at his own legs.

“I think I ripped something.” He presses a hand over his leg and clicks his tongue when, indeed, he feels the thin ladder in the side of the left leg. He knew those stockings would not make it past tonight. “Yep, the left succumbed.”

Hannibal pushes himself up as well to inspect the damages. He runs his palm over Will’s leg, covering the ladder. “They were of poor quality either way. We’ll get you another pair.” He slips a finger tip inside the rip to stroke Will’s skin, enlarging the hole and Will bats his hand away. “Pairs if you wish.”

Will lowers himself back on the mattress, head resting on his crossed arms. “We should get you more too.”

“I did buy more already. They just haven’t come in yet.”

Will snorts. “Of course you did.”

“But I’d love it if you chose some for me.”

“Sure, big boy. Just don’t complain when I choose the sluttiest I can find.”

Hannibal turns on his side to tuck himself against Will’s, one arm thrown over his waist, fingers sliding over the corset to caress his sweaty skin. “Only if you don’t complain when _I_ choose the ‘sluttiest’ I can find.”

“Deal.” The weight of the arm retreats, its warmth still close as Will feels little tugs on the corset. “You know how long it took me to lace this properly? Almost half an hour. And here I thought there couldn’t be anything harder than sailing knots.”

“It takes a little practice.” Hannibal pulls on the knot of the silk lacing and works it out of the little grommets with utmost care. “Let me help you next time. I’m rather familiar with those.”

“Right. You probably slept with plenty of fancy people who wear million dollar corsets on a daily basis.”

“And I was also one of those fancy people, when I was much younger.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Will muffles, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “I hear med schools are wild.”

“What happens in the dorms, stays in the dorms,” Hannibal says, the words rolling off his tongue easily, well rehearsed.

Will chuckles. “But of course.”

The lacing slides over his skin as Hannibal pulls it from the last buttonholes. He pushes the corset off his back and Will hisses when cold air touches his damp skin. Hannibal’s hands find his waist and his broad form stretches over him, encasing him in a bubble of heat. Will sighs as Hannibal presses his mouth to his nape, and starts kissing his way down his spine, the way he imagined he would, earlier in the bathroom.

“We should do that more often. You look really good in those.”

“It doesn’t have to be limited to the bedroom.”

Will feels something stir in his belly at the thought of Hannibal wearing lingerie under his ridiculous, uptight suits. He thinks of him holding court amidst his circle of socialites, his person suit seamless, concealing nothing short of scandalous underneath. He thinks of someday coming home, running his hands onto his back, and feeling the faint patterns of the fine lace and silk under his dress shirt. He thinks of Hannibal looking at him coyly over his shoulder, batting his pale lashes, just before Will scoops him up in his arms and carries him to the bedroom, lays him down on their bed to tear off his persona layer by layer until nothing but him is left.

“We should try red for you, next time. Red looks beautiful on your skin.” And because his brain is nothing if not crossed wires, “Can’t wait to see you in pretty clothes _and_ tied up.”

Hannibal licks a hot stripe between his shoulder blades, making him shiver. “And I can’t wait to see your design, my love.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much treasured!


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